Sophie Green [Sophie Green] - Potkin and Stubbs

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Eddie Golden Gaynor

19252011

This one is for you

Peligan City was worn out and rain-soaked and the dark clouds that hung over it cast long and murky shadows. Only the city centre escaped the gloom, with its circus of dazzling casino lights and flashing billboards. Beyond that, hidden behind the glare and the smoke, were the back streets where steam rose up from the sewers like mist. There, far away from the slot machines and the car horns, the only sound was the rustling of the rain and the wet smack of footsteps as Lil Potkin ran down the road, her shadow stretching and shrinking as she passed through the yellow pools of light beneath each street lamp.

She arrived at Paradise Street out of breath and just in time to see her bus, a lumbering double-decker, chug away in a cloud of black fumes. As it passed her, the back wheel sank into a pothole; Lil recoiled half a second too late and got slapped in the face by a wave of puddle water.

Hey! she spluttered, glaring after the disappearing rear lights. She tried to think of a good comeback while the grimy liquid dripped off the end of her nose, but nothing came to mind, and there was no one around to hear it anyway.

She looked at her watch, and then reluctantly turned to the waiting area. It was 8.35 p.m. She had half an hour to kill and nowhere better to kill it.

As she stepped through the automatic doors, she was hit by the glare of fluorescent tube lights. The waiting room was a grid of chipped white tables bordered by pairs of plastic chairs, all securely bolted to the floor. High-level speakers leaked electronic background music, just loud enough to be annoying but not so loud that you could actually hear what song was playing. But it was warmer than outside, and it was dry.

Lil, a wiry twelve-year-old with cup-handle ears and a belly full of ambition, wore her hair cut into a bob with a short fringe and a signature yellow rain mac. A small rucksack, containing a well-thumbed book, a notepad and a nest of chewed pencils, was slung over her shoulders.

Wary citizens avoided the city centre after dark but Lil wasnt easily scared. Shed been stalking the streets for years, looking for a story, sticking her nose in where it didnt belong, waiting for a scoop big enough to get her onto the staff of the underground news pamphlet the Klaxon. Shed been unlucky with her previous cases they had both come to nothing but Lil knew that she just had to keep at it. Her hero, the great investigative journalist A. J. McNair, once said that news is everywhere, if you know where to look and Lils eyes were permanently peeled.

The waiting room had only a few inhabitants: a couple of stubble-faced night workers drinking tea; cleaners in overalls, probably on their way to factories or office blocks; and a large family clutching suitcases, who looked like they would be spending the night there.

On the opposite wall was a noticeboard. A muddle of flyers covered it, overlapping haphazardly, like they had been drawn there by a powerful paper magnet. Lil flicked back through the notices offering services rendered and items for sale until she caught sight of a crumpled and crayon-drawn plea half buried under adverts for cheap appliance sales.

LOST TOY! Help me find my best doll. PLEASE. He has one good eye and blue trousers. Someone has taken him and never given him back. Even though he is all Ive got.

Below there was a badly drawn picture of a winking egg character with arms and legs and a few strands of seaweed-like hair.

Lil blew out her cheeks. The doll obviously meant a lot to the kid; it wouldnt do any harm to make a few enquiries and, anyway, it was no worse than her last investigation, The Case of the Stolen Bin Lids, or the one before that, The Mystery of the Forgotten Laundry Bag.

There was an address she couldnt quite make out at the top of the note. Lil gave the page a sharp tug and as it came away a horrible feeling of dread crept over her: a whisper, like the draught of a cellar door opening onto a darkened staircase. A shadow flitted at the corner of her eye; she turned quickly but there was no one there.

Everyone was right where they had been. No, she looked again there was a new face and it was staring right at her. Sitting by the window, only a few tables away, was a boy. His skin was so pale it was almost white, and the arms of his grey sweatshirt rode up, revealing his bony wrists.

Lil felt her ears turning red and let her eyes glide past, like she was just casually taking in the room, pretending she hadnt seen him. People didnt generally look right at you in Peligan; they kept their eyes to the ground, in case they saw anything they might have to do something about. Lil wasnt like that, but it didnt mean she liked being stared at.

Putting on a breezy stride, she made her way to an empty table and sat down, ignoring the grim sensation of soggy jeans pressing against her skin. Then, taking out her reporters notebook, she pulled the pencil from its spiral binding and flipped the cover open with a well-rehearsed flick of the wrist.

She held the flyer up as though she was copying down details and used the cover to peer over it. The boy was still staring. Lil tucked her hair behind her ears and then untucked it again. What was his problem? She ignored him for as long as she could, chewing thoughtfully on the end of her pencil, then she drew a big bubble question mark on the next blank page of her notebook and coloured it in.

Eventually her curiosity got the better of her and she lowered the flyer.

He wasnt staring any more. A newspaper lay face up in front of him and he was absorbed in reading the cover story with his head bowed low and a lock of fair hair falling untidily over his forehead.

A man in a donkey jacket lurched into the seat opposite the boy and took the newspaper. The boy looked up but didnt say anything. The man licked his thumb, opened the paper and shook it out. After a minute, she saw him shiver and pull his jacket collar up. He looked about him uneasily, and then without a word he stood up, dropped the paper on the floor and moved to another table. The boy watched him go.

The lighting overhead buzzed and flickered.

Lil lowered the flyer a little more. She took in the boys tattered trainers and the frayed hems of his jeans and felt bad for pretending she couldnt see him earlier. She had been thinking about getting a hot drink to pass the time; maybe she would get one for him too.

As she stood at the drinks machine looking at the choices, Lil flipped her coin with practised nonchalance. Out of the corner of her eye she could see that the boy was looking at her again probably pretty impressed by my coin flipping, she thought and dropped the coin. It rolled over to where he was sitting.

Fantastic, she said under her breath, and then out loud: Sorry. I dropped some money under your table. The boy looked startled as she approached. He blinked uncertainly back at her.